by Pam Weaver
‘It’s the reason my brother left home.’
Eva sat back on the table and gave Connie her full attention. ‘I’m listening.’
‘I was with my brother at a place called Long Furlong near Patching where we used to live and we’d met up with another lad called Stan Saul,’ she said leaning against the wall. ‘Kenneth and I had been out on our bikes all day with a few other boys and girls from the village. We’d taken a primus stove and cooked some sausages in the frying pan.’
Eva smiled. ‘Nothing like cooking out of doors. Go on.’
‘Kenneth is two years older than me but Stan was already grown-up. He was seventeen and nobody could understand why he hung around with us kids all the time.’
‘Does sound a bit odd,’ Eva agreed.
‘Anyway, he’d brought some bread and he had some sweets which of course made him everybody’s mate that day,’ Connie went on. ‘It was a lot more fun having a slice of bread to wrap around a boiling hot sausage, although it did pose a bit of a problem having to cut the slices with only Curly Bishop’s penknife.’ She laughed briefly.
Eva listened as she recalled what happened. She told Eva that she wasn’t very happy when Stan had invited himself back to their place afterwards and was even more anxious when she’d realised that no one else was at home. Mum and Ga were out but she’d consoled herself that Pip, although still only a pup, was there to protect them.
‘That’s when Stan produced the cider.’
‘Cider?’ Eva remarked.
‘It was very strong and the bubbles gave me hiccups. Stan told me to “Drink up,” and he kept tipping the glass back every time I put it to my lips.’ Connie put her trembling hand to her forehead as she remembered. The gathering gloom outside gave the window a mirror effect and she studied herself in the glass. The jumble in her mind was clearing and she shuddered as she remembered Stan running his tongue over his dirty teeth.
‘Connie?’ Eva jumped down and put her hand on Connie’s shoulder. ‘Did something awful happen?’
Connie thought of Roger again. He was a nice man but if Eva told him about Stan, would he want to write to her again? As she felt her eyes smarting, Connie pulled herself together crossly. The past was the past. She couldn’t alter it and the only way it could hurt her was if she dwelt on it. Stan was out of her life forever and the chances of ever seeing him again were remote. They’d just come through a war for heaven’s sake. There was a fair chance that Stan Saul had perished on the battlefield anyway. She picked up her empty laundry basket. ‘Nah,’ she said brightly. ‘A silly memory of a rubbish first kiss, that’s all.’
*
His mother wouldn’t like it but he’d have to tell her. No point in beating about the bush. He’d come right out with it. Best way.
‘I’m changing my name, Mum.’
She almost dropped a stitch. ‘Change your name. Whatever for?’
‘I told you, didn’t I? I want a new start. As soon as people hear my name, they remember what happened to my wife and they’ve already made up their minds, haven’t they?’
She had no answer to that.
‘I’m going to use my second name instead,’ he went on. ‘It might bring me better luck.’
‘Oh, son,’ she said cautiously. ‘I’m not so sure it’s a good idea. People are bound to think you’ve got something to hide.’
She saw something flicker in his eyes and his mouth took on a sinister sneer. ‘I didn’t ask for your opinion, Mum,’ he said coldly. ‘I told you what I’m going to do, so you’d better get used to it.’
As he left the room, he slammed the door so hard the cups rattled on the sideboard. She could feel the panic rising inside her chest. It was starting all over again, wasn’t it? He hadn’t changed at all.
*
Matron was doing her ward rounds and Sister had asked Connie to clean Room 1 in preparation for an incoming patient. She had spent the morning wiping the locker, the iron bedstead and the mattress with disinfectant. She’d checked the curtains on the screen and changed one of them because it had a splash of some sort on it. She’d cleaned the thermometer holder on the wall and changed the mouthwash solution. When she had finished, Sister deemed it a job well done.
As Matron sailed onto the ward, Connie was just taking a bedpan to Mrs Meyer in bed four. She whipped the curtains round and hidden from view, she dealt with her patient. Mrs Meyer was lovely. She’d come in for an operation on her stomach but when the surgeons had opened her up, they’d found out that there was nothing more they could do. They’d stitched her back up again and when she came around, told her the bad news. Mrs Meyer knew she didn’t have long to live but it never seemed to dampen her spirit.
Connie had just taken the full pan from under Mrs Meyer when Matron swept the curtain aside. ‘Everything all right here?’ she bellowed.
The sudden movement made Connie jump and she accidentally spilled a little urine on the bed sheet. Matron’s eyes narrowed. ‘Scandalous waste of bed linen, nurse.’
‘Yes, Matron, sorry Matron.’
‘You cleaned Room 1, didn’t you, nurse?’
‘Yes, Matron.’
‘Then when you’ve cleaned that up come and stand outside.’
When Connie had finished changing Mrs Meyer’s sheet, she stood outside the door of Room 1 and waited. A minute or two later, Matron came and took a pair of white gloves out of her pocket. Putting the left one on, Matron went inside and closed the door. They could hear her moving around and then it all went quiet. A couple of seconds later she came out with her hands in the air. On the right hand, the index finger of her white glove had a black smudge on it.
‘Not good enough, nurse,’ she said curtly. ‘Do it again.’
‘But where did you find it?’ Connie blurted out.
‘That is for you to find out, nurse,’ snapped Matron sweeping out of the ward. ‘I shall be back in one hour.’
Connie could have wept. Her face was flaming with rage. She went to the sluice room to fetch her cleaning things again. She was supposed to be off duty in half an hour.
As she hurried to Room 1 for the second time, Mrs Meyer called her over. Pulling Connie down to the bedclothes she whispered conspiratorially, ‘Don’t let the old witch get to you, darling. Remember we all look the same with our knickers around our ankles first thing in the morning.’
Connie laughed and somehow that thought kept her going as she began again.
*
The reporter yawned. Not much excitement in court today, a couple of non-payments of fines, a chap accused of harassing his ex-wife and someone being prosecuted for not having a gun licence. It was all pretty boring stuff, only fit to go on page nine and column four. What he wanted was a page two or three piece or better still, a juicy front page story.
The last case of the day involved a gypsy. Who cares about gypsies, he thought as the boy stood in the dock, and then he realised he’d seen him before. As the case unfolded it dawned on him that this was the kid who had been in the paper a few weeks ago. He was the do-gooder who had been helping people out in the cold weather. Helping himself more like. The headlines were already turning over in his head. Good neighbour turns bad. That sounded quite good. Or, bearing in mind the boy’s name, how about, Light-fingered Light.
Isaac Light stood glum-faced in the dock as the judge passed sentence. ‘You will go to prison for six months.’
He had expected no less; after all, the police had found some stolen items, a pearl necklace and a valuable ring, in his caravan. The prosecution made much of the fact that there was other stuff missing and even though the police had searched the caravan thoroughly, it was still missing. Isaac was told to come clean and say where it was if he wanted a lighter sentence but how could he? He hadn’t stolen it in the first place. Everything seemed very circumstantial until the crown produced its most damning piece of evidence, eighty-six pounds they’d found under the floorboards. ‘No doubt the proceeds from your ill-gotten gains,’ the judge decided
as he confiscated it for police funds. ‘Take him down.’
His father, Reuben, had leapt to his feet to shout but instead struggled to control his cough. As Isaac was escorted down the steps, the reporter’s lip curled. The old man was in no fit state to look after himself. It was obvious to everyone in the courtroom that he was on his last legs. Another man, vaguely familiar but the reporter couldn’t place him, was sitting next to the old man.
‘I’m innocent, Dad,’ Isaac called from the bottom of the stairs. ‘I didn’t do nothing.’
There was another case coming up but the reporter dashed out to get to the telephone and the news desk. With a bit of luck, the story of Light-fingered Light would be in the morning paper.
The other spectators in court shrugged and exchanged sceptical looks as Isaac called out from below the dock but Reuben was a broken man. Everyone in his family cut corners and bent the rules a bit, but this was the first time anyone had been jailed for theft.
‘It wasn’t him,’ he croaked.
Sitting next to him, the Frenchie patted his back. ‘I, for one, don’t believe it either, Reuben,’ he whispered and the old man looked up at him with hope in his eyes.
Nineteen
Connie had the weekend off and on her way back home, she planned to post another letter to Roger. He’d only written a couple of times but she wasn’t too worried. He’d told her in one of his letters that he wasn’t very good at letter writing.
As soon as she walked in the door, the family showed off their new telephone. It had been a mammoth task to persuade Ga to have it installed and Connie was thrilled.
‘We’ll be able to take orders over the phone now,’ said Gwen.
‘A great deal of expense for nothing if you ask me,’ Ga murmured.
‘It’s time to join the twentieth century, Ga,’ Connie said light-heartedly and was rewarded with a cold stare.
Connie had hardly settled in the door before Clifford wanted her to come and see Reuben. To her surprise, the old man wasn’t in his caravan in Titnore Lane. Clifford took her instead to the Frenchie’s workshop. Eugène opened the rickety door and stepped back to let them in. He looked as handsome as ever and Connie’s heartbeat quickened as soon as she saw him. He smiled and held his arm out to indicate where Reuben was. Connie looked up and saw the old man lying on an old horsehair sofa at the back.
‘What’s he doing here?’ she asked. She hurried to him and touched his forehead. It was cold and clammy. His skin was grey and he was struggling to breathe. She listened with mounting horror as Clifford told her about Isaac going to jail and the police search of his caravan. ‘I’m really annoyed that they did nothing to help him,’ said Clifford. ‘They must have seen the state the old boy was in.’
‘Then it’s a good job he has friends nearby,’ said Connie, taking Reuben’s pulse.
‘That was all down to Pip,’ said Clifford. ‘He kept sloping off and we couldn’t find him for hours. Then a couple of nights ago we could hear this dog howling in the distance. Mandy knew it was him straight away so I went to look for him.’
‘No sign of Kez and the others then?’ said Connie.
‘Moved on some time ago.’ Clifford shook his head. ‘I found Pip outside Reuben’s canvas tent howling his head off. If I hadn’t turned up, the poor man would have been dead by now. He hadn’t even had a drink for God knows how long.’
‘But Kez usually turns up this time of year,’ said Connie, clearly puzzled.
Clifford nodded. ‘And when someone’s ill, somehow or other, they all turn up from nowhere but not this time. With Isaac locked up, the poor old boy was on his own. He refused to let us take him to the doc. We didn’t know what to do for the best.’
Reuben’s eyes were fixed on the wooden wall and it didn’t take Connie long to realise he was staring between the planks where the daylight made its watery way inside. His chest sounded awful and she could see that he had been coughing up blood. One thing was obvious. He couldn’t stay here. The Frenchie stood beside him with his hands in his pockets and chewing his lip anxiously. Connie willed her heart not to pound so when he was so near.
‘Eugène, I know you mean well,’ Connie began, ‘but we really must get him to hospital.’
‘He knows he is dying,’ Eugène said quietly. ‘He doesn’t want to be indoors.’
Connie moved a little closer to him and laid her hand on his arm. ‘I’m afraid he has no choice,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing I can do and especially not here.’
Eugène shook his head. ‘But I promised.’
‘The authorities will make it difficult for you if he dies here,’ Connie went on. ‘They may decide that your failure to get him medical help is neglect … or something far worse. After all, you have no written proof that this was his wish, and Reuben won’t be around to explain.’
Eugène’s nostrils flared slightly and he nodded his head reluctantly.
‘Go and ring for an ambulance, Clifford,’ Connie said taking charge, and then looking at Eugène, she said, ‘Can you get me a bowl, a towel and some water please?’
By the time the ambulance came, Connie had cleaned Reuben up a bit. He’d managed to go to the toilet which was outside, but the two men had to virtually carry him. When they laid him back down, his breathing was laboured and clearly painful. Connie went with him in the ambulance and he was admitted straight away into isolation on the men’s ward. She sat with him for a while and even though he was definitely more comfortable and had less pain because of the drugs they’d given him, Connie couldn’t help feeling guilty. Reuben had been denied the one thing he had always wanted – to die under the open sky.
As she sat in the peace and quiet, Connie chewed over what had happened to Isaac. It was hard to believe. It was true, he was surly and bad tempered, and he had a chip on his shoulder. He was sometimes guilty of illegal fishing or shooting the odd deer for food, but stealing from old ladies? Somehow that wasn’t his style and yet Clifford had told her the police had found stolen goods in his caravan. After all the Frenchie had done for him, she didn’t know whether to be angry or to pity him.
Towards the end of the evening, the door flew open and Connie leapt to her feet with a cry, ‘Kez!’
She had the baby on her hip. Connie took Blossom from her arms and Kez went to her father’s bedside. Outside the door, Connie could see the corridor was swarming with people. Dressed in black, the gypsies had come to say their farewells. Ward Sister was frantic. ‘Only two visitors at a time,’ she was shouting, but the endless stream of people totally ignored her. She appealed to Connie, but there was nothing she could do, except to implore Sister to let them do what they came for and then they would go. By ten o’clock there was only Kez and Connie left. Someone had taken the children so that Kez was free to be with her father during his final hours.
‘How did you find out?’ Connie asked.
‘Pen has the gift,’ she said mysteriously and seeing Connie’s raised eyebrows, she grinned. ‘The Frenchie came to look for us.’
Eva turned up as soon as she’d finished her duty. ‘Someone in the canteen said you were here,’ she said. ‘Anything I can do for you?’
There was nothing but Connie was glad to have her two best friends meet at last although she wished it could have been under less difficult circumstances. The two girls seemed to get on well. As the rest of the ward settled for the night, Connie motioned to Kez and Eva and between them they manoeuvred Reuben’s bed towards the window. Connie pulled back the curtain but of course it was pitch black outside. She opened the window a crack and he seemed to know that he was breathing fresh air. At midnight, Eva left, promising to come back first thing in the morning.
As the night wore on, Reuben’s death rattle was very loud. The nurses kept an eye on him and plied Kez and Connie with cups of tea, but they made their appearances as unobtrusive as possible. Connie’s heart went out to Kez. Her friend behaved with dignity but it was obvious that she loved her father deeply. They didn’t talk mu
ch. Somehow it was enough to be together. Reuben Light passed away just as the dawn was breaking on Easter Sunday, 6 April, 1947. He was fifty-six years old.
Eva telephoned and Clifford came to take them both home, Kez to her own trailer parked next to Reuben’s caravan and Connie to Belvedere Nurseries. ‘Makes a hell of a difference having a car,’ he told Connie. Clifford had seen it in an old lady’s garage when they were helping her out with some coal during the cold snap. It had belonged to her late husband and no one had driven it since 1937. Clifford paid her a fair price and, before he’d left the workshop, the mechanic had fixed it up.
The family had planned to have a day out but Connie had been up all night. Mandy couldn’t hide her disappointment. ‘It’s not fair,’ she complained. ‘We never do anything together anymore.’
‘I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time with Mum and Dad,’ said Connie. ‘We’ll do something another time.’
‘But I wanted to be with you,’ Mandy pouted.
‘How would it be if Connie slept this morning,’ Gwen suggested, ‘and then we go out this afternoon?’
Connie was desperate for some sleep but even she didn’t want to be in bed all day, so it was agreed that they’d wake her at two. It took her a while to come round. Her head felt heavy and she felt a little sick. She couldn’t stop yawning either but once she was in the car, Connie felt a lot better. The family motored onto the South Downs using the London Road which went past Sompting church. It was a bit of a squash in the car especially as Pip had squeezed himself in as well. When they got there they parked on the hill and taking out the picnic things, set off for some trees in the distance. Even though it was early in the year, it was a beautiful day. Pip ran on ahead, scattering wild pheasants hiding in the hedgerows.
Connie looked up at the big sky and felt small. The rolling Sussex downs with their patchwork fields dotted with sheep made a beautiful backdrop. Coming here was a good choice. The sadness of yesterday was somehow put in its place. Reuben was gone, but others, his children and grandchildren would take his place. Life moved on. Nothing stayed the same. She was in maudlin mood. She thought of the brevity of life, of the people she’d nursed in hospital, cut down in the prime of their lives. She thought of the importance of friendships, especially of her friendship with Kez. They didn’t see each other for months, sometimes years on end and yet they were able to pick up exactly where they’d left off as if there had been no time between. She thought of Eva and the friendship they’d had to keep under wraps in case they upset the family and she wondered again about Ga and Cissy. They had both loved the same man but Cissy had said the family were at loggerheads long before she married Arthur. Something about a man called Little Mac. Connie knew she’d heard that name before, but where? It seemed so sad that for all these years, Ga had denied herself a friendship, because of someone else’s fight. Why hold a grudge for all that time? Apart from Aggie, Ga had no friends now. She relied on the family for her socialising, which was why she was with them now, but she had little in common with any of them. It occurred to Connie, for the first time, that Ga wasn’t actually related to any of the people who still lived at Belvedere Nurseries. She and Kenneth were her great niece and nephew, but Ga was only related to her mother through marriage. How different it had been for Reuben. It seemed like he was all alone in the world and yet all those people had turned up as he lay dying. What was the point of that? How much better to enjoy a friendship or relationship with that person while they were still alive. Then there was Sally Burndell. Rumour had it that Sally was coming back home. Connie purposed to drop her a line and find out how she was doing. Thinking of Sally made her think of Jane Jackson. Their friendship was more casual and yet she valued Jane as a friend. She smiled to herself. She still hadn’t met this wonderful man of Jane’s yet!